‘Like a coyote in the night:’ The story of Kauffman Stadium’s trademark ‘woo-hoo’
AI-generated summary reviewed by our newsroom.
- Pam Abramson's iconic 'woo-hoo' has echoed through Kauffman since early 2000s.
- Abramson's cheer began in Section 313 as a way to uplift struggling Royals teams.
- The 'woo-hoo' has become both a fan favorite and source of aural discomfort.
Depending on from where anyone consumes a Royals game at Kauffman Stadium, our customized soundtracks sure tend to vary.
Sitting at home or in your car or wherever else you might be, the experience is punctuated by the Royals’ broadcasters — our very voices of summer — and the choreographed musical accompaniments and cues.
In the open-air press box, the prevailing audio is banter, the ambient murmur of the crowd … and, heck, even hearing infielders call fly balls on the too-many days when the team has been flat.
Many nights in most parts of the park, you can hear the cascading outfield fountains and the whoosh of traffic on Interstate 70, sometimes amplified by the blast of a truck’s air horn. And, especially on School Day at The K, you can’t miss the delirious shrieks of youngsters still learning to distinguish between a home run and a pop-up.
“And then some,” as legendary groundskeeper George Toma likes to say.
But no matter where you might be, inside the stadium or tuning in from outside, one acoustic accent abides and hovers over and through it all: the shrill “woo-hoo” that typically penetrates any transmission of the game and somehow echoes to about any cranny of the stadium.
Not to mention invades your mind like a so-called ear worm, a notion you might know through a song or ad you can’t shake.
Like the way the “Seinfeld” show riffed on the “by … Mennen” jingle with that “Co … stanza” bit.
Or like a “coyote in the night,” as reader Mike Snell in an email aptly described what he calls “an aural KC signature.”
If you’re like me, you’ve wondered where it originates — both in terms of what section of the stadium and the story behind it.
And here’s the story, courtesy of a nudge from Snell, who by sheer serendipity soon after that initial email was offered two seats immediately behind the delightful source of a noise that gratifies some and grates others.
The wellspring is Parkville’s 82-year-old Pam Abramson, who along with her 83-year-old husband, Steve, has held the same seats in Section 313 since 1986 — which just happened to be the start of the Royals’ descent from postseason dominance to dormancy for nearly three decades in between playoff berths.
“It seemed like they needed an uplift, somebody to encourage them,” she said. “I didn’t want to yell all the time at them, but I was hoping they could hear me. And apparently they could.”
For many years, the couple with three children (Stephanie, Melissa and David) had four seats and brought along either children or grandchildren. She wasn’t employing her voice that way then.
Just the same, she was cultivating the ability to project it by coaching her daughters in various sports (most vocally in softball) and at least occasionally wanting “to make my opinions known” to game officials.
Plus, well …
“I’m loud,” she said, smiling as she thought back to her childhood in Iowa and wanting to be heard by her older brother and his friends, with whom she liked to play sports.
So since the time they cut back to two seats in the early 2000s, her trademark cry has become one of the most enduring — albeit not universally endearing — elements of the Kauffman experience.
As distinct as the sound is, Abramson can’t exactly say how she came up with it.
“I just wanted to be loud …” she said, “and encourage in my own way.”
That “own way” starts with a prelude that doesn’t carry quite like the crescendo: In the relative hush after every Royals’ walk-up song and arrival at the plate, she’ll call out “let’s go” and some form of that player’s name at a moderate level.
“And then I say, ‘Woo-hoo,’” she added, “but I say it loud.”
For the record, she doesn’t invoke the “woo-hoo” to taunt pickleball opponents ... and laments that she sometimes lapses into a mild curse word. She doesn’t employ it at any of her grandchildren’s events since, she said, “they wouldn’t get the meaning of it.”
And when she wants to make a point at home, she certainly doesn’t wield it at Steve, who on certain rare occasions will “harmonize” with her at the stadium.
“We are very compatible,” Steve said, with a laugh.
Going back to 1961, in fact, when he arrived from New York at Park College. He was so struck by a glimpse of one woman in a student directory that he told a friend if he ever dated anyone at the school. “It would be that one right here.”
“That was me,” she said. “Worked out pretty good.”
Despite, or rather because of, a playful episode on their first date.
“She poured a beer over my head,” Steve said.
Seriously?
“He dared me … sort of,” Pam said. “I said something, he said something; I said, ‘I’m going to pour a beer over your head.’ He said, ‘Oh, no you won’t.’”
Steve beams as he tells the story now of how he knew then, lightheartedly adding, “Oh, love.”
They get plenty of that at The K, starting with their longtime friends sitting around them and local admirers who seek her out for pictures. Even passers-through checking out stadiums around the country want to meet her as part of the local flavor.
Launched by a tip from their kids during the year of their 50th anniversary (2013), they recalled, they ultimately were featured on the Kiss Cam 28 times that season.
Once a young father approached along with his baseball-playing son and asked her to record on their phone a personalized “woo-hoo” so they could play it when he came up to bat in his youth league games.
And sometimes you can hear various homages to her “woo-hoo,” enough so that for a long time I wondered if it was a committee making the noise.
As it happens, it sort of is: By the end of the night, Pam said before one recent game, others will be doing it, too.
The flip side is that not everyone appreciates the sound.
One couple with seats in front of them simply moved as far away as possible, for example. And Steve allows how that sort of noise might feel painful to some.
Rather menacingly, as reinforced by a photo, one time two guys from another part of the stadium sat behind them and told Pam they were “tired of hearing me” … and then sat and stared at them. They refused to leave when nearby friends asked them to and loudly complained when ushers made them move.
At one point during a particularly bad run for the Royals, even Kauffman Stadium security tried to dissuade her from doing it so often.
Baffled by why a team faring so poorly would take such a stance, the couple made the point that in most innings only three Royals were coming to the plate
And then she just went back to what she’s been doing all these years — a now-essential part of a soundtrack that you can’t help but hear, and even listen for, no matter how you feel about it.
This story was originally published July 2, 2025 at 2:16 PM.